


Five Times Avon and Servalan Kissed Each Other

by still_lycoris



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gunplay, Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1622915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/still_lycoris/pseuds/still_lycoris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avon doesn't like Servalan. Or trust her. But he does want her.</p><p>Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Avon and Servalan Kissed Each Other

**Temptation**

He should never have let her kiss him on Sarren.

He had been in control before that, known he was in control. Oh, Servalan spun a pretty web but he knew it for gossamer it was. Promises that would blow away on the wind or drown in his blood. He wasn’t a fool. He knew better.

But he let her kiss him. And it was _delicious_ , warm and inviting and his body abruptly burned for it, desire suddenly woken from a long sleep. He hadn’t felt this way for so long, not since Anna – 

He threw Servalan away from him, as roughly as he could. The look of rage on her face was rather amusing but it did nothing to quell the arousal building within him. No, he wasn’t a fool, only a fool would let himself be seduced by Servalan, only a fool and he was no fool.

“I’d be dead within a week!” he hissed at her and turned contemptuously away. She didn’t try to appeal to him. She just got up, dusted herself down coolly and sat back on the couch.

“You’re a fool, Avon.”

He didn’t waste his breath explaining that that was exactly what he wasn’t.

*

 **Curiosity**.

He knew that he shouldn’t have been thinking about it as much as he did. But somehow, he couldn’t help it. It just … lingered in his mind, a dark, fascinating caress that he found he wanted to repeat. He just wanted to know, he wanted to be sure …

To be sure that he’d made the right decision.

Yes, he could admit it. Blake was gone, seemingly forever. He didn’t have to hold to the man any more, didn’t have to fight this rebellion, didn’t have to do anything that he didn’t want to do.

It was just working out what he wanted to do.

It was fairly easy to find out a planet where the new president would be. Easier still to find a pretext to trick his crew into going there. Tarrant argued because that was what he did, Cally looked a little suspicious but she didn’t try to stop him. 

And easiest of all to slip away to where Servalan was staying.

She was wearing white silk that clung to every curve of her. She smiled so sweetly when she saw him, as though they were already lovers, as though she had no reason to fear his sudden arrival. As though the gun he was pointing at her would never be fired.

“Avon. How lovely to see you.”

She stretched out her hand to him and so he came. He did not lower his weapon, not even when he was standing right beside her, her body against his. He pressed the gun to her temple and only then did he kiss her.

She kissed him back passionately. Her mouth was dark, sugary from the fruit she had been eating. Her hands came up to stroke through his hair, his neck, his shoulders. She moulded her body to his and he fought the desire to surrender to it, to _her_.

“Tell me again,” he whispered against her lips. “Tell me again what I could have.”

She did, breathing promises in his ears about the riches, the freedom, the glory. She ran her hands under his clothes, stroked his skin, moaned softly when he returned the favour one-handedly. The gun that pressed against her temple didn’t seem to disturb her in the slightest. The idea of having her like this, sex with keeping that gun against her head the whole time, it was thrilling, so thrilling, he wanted it …

He pulled back. She stared at him, her eyes alight with lust, her hands still reached out towards him. Avon ached to return to them, ached to take it further.

But no. He knew better. He knew.

“I think I shall decline your offer,” he said, allowing himself a cold smile. “I do not need you, Servalan.”

He half-hoped to see her rage again, half-hoped to see her embarrassed, made small. But she leaned back against the table and laughed, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh _Avon_. You delight me. When you finally realise what you want to do, let me know.”

She didn’t try to stop him leaving. She didn’t even send any guards after him. Avon found it a little insulting really.

He would have to remind her that he was more dangerous than that.

*

 **Amusement**.

It was a little game really, at the convention of Teal-Vandor.

They both knew it. Everything they were saying was light, almost teasing, despite the seriousness of the words, of the situation. He kissed her hungrily, loved the fact that she kissed him back. He had thought of their other kisses often, enjoyed the memories. Servalan was a dark treat, wicked and wrong but his to enjoy, every now and then.

And yet when Cally brought him up, smiling as he appeared in the teleporter bay, he felt a cold twist of shame. Cally believed in him. She had always believed in him, believed he could be a good man. No matter how often he tried to prove that he was not, that he was something else, she believed in the man that Blake had made him into, made _him_ believe in that man too.

What would she think if he knew that he was dallying with Servalan?

What would _Blake_ think?

Why should he care what Blake thought?

Sometimes, Avon wished he could return to the days that seemed so long ago when it had been so easy to believe that he didn’t care what anybody thought.

Telling himself that he didn’t care simply didn’t work any longer.

*

**Hatred**

She was responsible for Cally’s death.

It burned in him, a cold and deadly fire. Servalan’s trick, her plan, it had led to Cally’s death (her fault, hers, not his, it couldn’t be his fault, he couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t accept that or he would break and he _would not break!_ ) He would make her pay. He would make her _pay_ , he would see her bleeding at his feet, he would watch her die and he would _laugh_.

(Cally had always told him vengeance wasn’t the way. But she was dead. She couldn’t tell him that any more. She would understand, wouldn’t she? She would want Servalan to die, she would want it to mean something. She would understand that he _needed_ it to mean something.)

He would kill her. He _would_ kill her. He no longer wanted her, no longer desired her. He could have loved Cally if he’d allowed himself, if he hadn’t been poisoned by Servalan, by a desire for something that he couldn’t have, that he didn’t even really want. 

It was what he told himself every day. So often, he nearly believed it.

She captured him once, on Allerton 5. It was strange just how little he found he cared. He sat, his hands tied and waited and barely even blinked when she entered the cell he’d been placed in, gun in hand.

“Do you plan to do it yourself, _Sleer?_ ”

“I’m not sure I’d trust anybody else, Avon. Stand up.” 

Her smile was predatory so he returned one of the same calibre. Slowly, he raised himself to his feet, watched as she moved closer. She pressed the gun to his cheek, just as she had on Earth, doubtless a return of his own caress from their second meeting. He fought the urge to close his eyes. He would show no fear, not to her.

She kissed him. Sweet and light, a goodbye kiss. He kept his mouth still as stone, ignoring the faint flicker of desire beneath his hate.

“Just do it, Servalan.”

Her finger tightened on the trigger. Then the base was rocked by an explosion and they were both thrown, her backward, him forward. Within moments, confusion reigned and during that confusion, Vila arrived to be Avon’s knight in shining armour.

He was hurt when Avon didn’t show the appropriate gratitude. Avon wondered if it was worth explaining that he really didn’t care any more.

*

 **Despair**.

He woke slowly, conscious of pain in every part of his body. At first, he thought it was simply from the stun bolts that had to have struck him. Then he remembered.

He screamed. He screamed and screamed because there was nothing else. The guards came in to silence him and Avon struggled pointlessly with them until one of them finally managed to sedate him. They dropped him to the floor, called him mad.

Avon wished he were mad. Madness sounded comforting, a retreat from hideous, bleak reality. He did not feel mad. He felt shatteringly sane.

The next time he woke, Servalan sat next to him. Her dress was sleek and a dark dove grey. She smiled at him.

“Hello, Avon.”

She leaned down and kissed him, deep and greedy and Avon blindly kissed her back. What did it matter? What did any of it matter? 

He grabbed at her, trying to drag her down with him and she came in a scramble, pressing their bodies together, hands coming up to rake through his hair. Her nails were like claws, he was sure she was making him bleed. He didn’t care. 

“I hate you,” he breathed into her mouth, then against her neck, shoulders, breasts. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

She moaned, rocked against him, didn’t respond at all except with her body and mouth. She moved on top of him, pushing him down against the pillows. Avon didn’t resist. He let her do as she wished.

He liked it.

“Will you kill me now?” he asked afterwards, staring at the blank ceiling above his head.

“Only if I have to.”

“You have to.”

“My offer is still open, Avon. I am not the president now but I could be, with your help. Do you think I would dare double-cross you when I need you so badly? You could have everything you have always wanted.”

He only laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for b7friday's prompt "Five Times"


End file.
